


The Judas Decision

by clgfanfic



Series: War of the Worlds - Place Before Mine Enemies [2]
Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to "A Place Before Mine Enemies" and a second season AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Judas Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #16 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"I waited until I could stop hating you."_

 

"You wanted to see me?" an older black man asked as he reached Ironhorse's bedside.

"You're my doctor?" the colonel asked, his eyebrow arching a fraction of an inch.  The man looked more like somebody's grandfather than a doctor.

"Yes, I'm Doctor Alfred Winslow," the man said, his voice deep and comforting in a James Earl Jones kind of way.

"How am I?"

The man looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied.  "Well, given that we can't find a damned thing wrong with you I'm afraid I can't really answer that."

"But I'm okay, I mean, I'm not hurt, right?"

"You were brought in here four days ago in what we first thought was a coma.  However, the brain wave patterns you were tossing out didn't conform to any known patterns for comas – or anything else we could come up with.  However, over the last forty-eight hours your brain wave activity has returned to normal… more or less."

"What's more and what's less?"

"There are fewer alpha waves than what we'd expect to see in a normal waking state and more theta waves."

"What does that mean?"

The doctor smiled and shook his head.  "I don't have a clue."

"But physically I'm okay?"

"Physically you're in near perfect health, and we haven't been able to find anything in the MRI or CAT scans to suggest brain damage of any sort."

"When can I leave?" Paul asked.

"When do you plan on telling me just what the hell happened to you?" the physician countered.

"I'm afraid that's classified, Doctor," Ironhorse replied.

The man shrugged.  "All right, but since I don't know what caused the problem to begin with, I don't know if you're all right.  Nor do I know if you'll experience any side-effects, or recover completely – provided there are anomalies to your motor, cognitive or memory functions.  We'd like to do a battery of tests on you to try and find that out."

"I appreciate that, Doctor, but I'll be leaving in the morning."

"I can't keep you here, but I think it's a little premature for you to go dashing off," the physician said. 

"Be that as it may," Ironhorse countered.  "I will be checking out in the morning."

"Would you at least check in with me periodically?"

Ironhorse nodded.  "If I can."

"In this world, I can appreciate that, Mr. Doe."

The black eyebrows crested.  "Doe?"

"The people who brought you in gave your name as John Doe."

Ironhorse smiled thinly.  "Yeah, that's right.  Guess I just forgot for a moment."

"Um-mm," the doctor replied, shaking his head.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"It's not much, sir, but it's secure and the plumbing works," Stein said as he escorted Ironhorse into the small house the Omegans had picked as their new base of operations.

From everything he'd seen so far, Ironhorse was pleased with the choice.  He walked over to the sofa and lowered himself down.  Winslow might have given him a clean bill of health, but he still felt tired and weak.  "At ease, people."

The other Omegans there sat down on the various pieces of tattered furniture as Ironhorse perused the graffiti sprayed across the walls.  "Bring me up to date," he instructed.

Coleman began.  "We've salvaged as much as we could from the Cottage property.  Mostly arms and ammunition, some stores and equipment, oh, and most of the external passive surveillance equipment.  The rest was destroyed.  Looks like someone beat us there, too, looters maybe.  What we have is all here, except for some of the buried stores.  I have a list waiting for you."

"The bodies?" Ironhorse asked.

"We buried them there," Coleman said.  "They would've wanted it that way, sir."

The colonel nodded.

"This site seems pretty quiet, sir," Stavrakos continued.  "The locals were run out when the city fell to the gangs a few months ago.  Guess no one thought it was worth keeping, since it's pretty much deserted now.  There are a few street-types hiding in the houses around here, but they just want to be left alone.  We have a perimeter established and two guards patrolling at all times, but we're spread pretty thin.  We're relying on the passive security more than I like."

"How close are we to supplies?"

"There's a local street market about eight blocks over on K.  The big downtown marketplace's across town.  Takes about an hour if the roads are clear, which they're not most of the time," Stein explained.

Derriman cleared his throat.  "No sign of the missin' Project members or Kincaid, but we do know the only way to get the kind of goods they're gonna want is to deal in the downtown marketplace.  If they're still in the city they'll show up there sooner or later.  We've got four men there, workin' in pairs to sweep the crowds, but the market's big and the crowds are always heavy.  The aliens are there, too."

"Are they obvious?"

"Sure as hell are," Derriman replied.  "They're not hidin' their weapons in any case, but they're not makin' any announcements yet, either."

"Word on Mr. Drake?" Ironhorse asked.

"I'll be going to the hospital in half an hour to relieve Goodson," Coleman said.  "One of us and Mrs. Pennyworth's staying with him twenty-four hours a day.  So far there's no sign that the aliens are looking for us, but there's a lot of organ looting going on so we wanted to be careful."

"You make sure he stays covered around the clock, and I want him out of there as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir.  He hasn't woken up yet, but the doctor, a Mary O'Bannan, say he's doing very well and should be awake soon."

"Damn good thing he put the Kevlite shirt on," Derriman added.  "The doc said he would've been dead for sure without it.  Even with it, he's goin' to be in there a while."

"Winslow also said that you should get as much rest as possible," Coleman added.

Ironhorse flashed the woman a warning glance.

Her hands came up to fend off the glare.  "Just doing my job, sir."

The colonel's expression softened.  "I know, Sergeant."

"There's a real water shortage goin' on, too," Derriman said.  "So far we've been able to get what we need here, but if this keeps up we're gonna have to travel further to scavenge what we need.  I was thinkin' it might be worthwhile to head back to the Cottage and see if we couldn't fill up some barrels from the underground surplus tanks on the property.  I doubt anyone's found those.  Same with the spare rations."

"If you have to, do it," Ironhorse said.  "Will this affect Mr. Drake?"

"The hospital says no, not yet, anyway," Coleman answered.

"If it does, then make a run to the Cottage," the colonel said.  "Make sure Norton's got whatever he needs."

She nodded.  "Yes, sir."

"Sir," Stavrakos said softly.  "Would you mind telling us just what the hell happened?"

Ironhorse trembled, but his expression remained neutral.  They had a right— No, they had a _need_ to know, and he told them everything he could in clipped tones.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Over the next three days Ironhorse tightened up the security at the safe house and started taking a turn watching Norton, allowing two more Omegans to comb the downtown marketplace for the other Project members.  Dr. Winslow was pleased since it gave him access to Ironhorse for a series of tests that told them both what they already knew.  The soldier's alpha waves were down and his theta waves were up.  There were no other obvious complications.

Winslow suggested that Ironhorse's persistent fatigue might be a side-effect of the increased theta waves, but he couldn't be sure.  He couldn't be sure about anything that had happened to the colonel, and neither could Ironhorse.  But there were too many memories that weren't his own for Paul to be comfortable.

But the constant nagging fear and doubt were set aside the day Norton blinked awake and groaned.  "That gun sure looked a lot bigger close up, Big Guy," he slurred.

Ironhorse felt the lopsided grin lift the pain off his face.  "Welcome back, Mr. Drake— Norton."

"Glad to still be here," was the tired reply.  "Where's Harrison, and—"

"Shh, you need to rest."

"They didn't make it out, did they."

"I think they did," Paul said softly.  "But we haven't been able to find them… yet."

"The Omegans?"

"Nine."

"Nine?"  Norton closed his eyes and rolled his head.  "Nine… that's all?"

"That's all.  And Mrs. Pennyworth's with us."

Norton looked at Ironhorse, studying the new lines that had set around his mouth and eyes.  "You'll find them, Colonel."

Ironhorse nodded.  "You need to rest."

The hacker let his eyes close again and felt sleep immediately tug at him.  "Be careful," he muttered before it carried him away.

"Always," Paul replied softly, reaching out to pull the blanket up to cover Norton's shoulders.

"I'll take over now, Paul," Mrs. Pennyworth said, walking into the room and pausing to watch the tender moment.  "Sergeant Coleman says that she needs to see you.  Oh, and the water problems seem to have been solved.  Thank God for small mercies."

"That is some good news for a change.  Thank you," Paul said.  "He woke up earlier, so if he starts giving the nurses a hard time, tell him he's on report."

"Will do," she said with a smile.

He gave the older woman a swift hug before he slipped soundlessly from the room.  She watched him go, wondering what he was hiding from them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse entered the safe house, Coleman immediately at his shoulder, saying, "We have a solid lead.  We've been concentrating on the booths that we thought they'd be most likely to use, and one of the vendors said a man matching Dr. Blackwood's description came by, bartering for vitamins.  He's due back later today to make the trade."

"That sounds like Blackwood," Ironhorse muttered.  "When?"

"This evening sometime," Coleman said.  "Stein and Hickson have the booth under surveillance."

"Good, I'll—"

"Sir," she interrupted.

His gaze narrowed, noticing her eyes for the first time.  They were red and puffy like she's been crying.  "Sergeant?"

"It's Rider, sir.  He's dead."

"How?"

"In the marketplace.  A kid lifted Rider's utility pouch.  He and Alverez split up to catch him… It was a set-up, one of the market gangs jumped Tom.  He took a few of them with him, but…"  She shook her head.  "Such a damned waste."

Ironhorse lips disappeared into a thin line of anger and frustration.

"He just didn't have a chance," she added, her voice choked.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse and Goodson moved purposefully through the crowded market.  Around them people came and left, bartering for bits and pieces of their daily lives.  The once proud city had been reduced to something just above subsistence living, and Ironhorse ground his teeth.  The aliens were responsible for this, and one day he was going to make them pay.

That things had become this bad so fast was hard to comprehend, but even as they walked through the downtown marketplace, Ironhorse knew the changes had been coming for several years.  At least in the cities.  In the countryside and the smaller towns and cities across the country life went on more or less like usual, but in the big metropolitan cities…

The streets had become feral jungles of steel and cement where the police had retreated, the gangs ruled and the poor were prisoners of their impoverishment.  Anyone who could afford to leave San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, Denver, Chicago, New York, Miami and the other megapolises already had.

The lawlessness of the cities made them the perfect locations for the aliens to hide.  And there were plenty of humans available for whatever they wanted them for, no one asking questions when they disappeared.  Money could buy anything in the cities these days, including human guinea pigs.

Movement at the edge of his vision captured the colonel's attention.  Two men moved through the crowds.  They looked like everyone else in the marketplace, lean and anxious, but there was something else.  Something wrong.  Something out of place…

Then he saw it, the odd-looking bulbous weapon one of the men carried in his hand.  Aliens.

He reached out, grabbing Goodson's arm.  "Those two, over there.  They're aliens."

Goodson looked, nodding when he spotted the pair.  His eyes rounded as the two aliens suddenly opened fire on Stein and Hickson.

"Move!" Ironhorse snapped.

The colonel and Goodson charged, M9s flashing into their hands.  Hickson went down, Stein diving for cover behind a vendor's tent.

Ironhorse signaled for Goodson to break right and took the left for himself.  _Why did the aliens target the Omegans?_ Paul wondered, then saw the answer.  Harrison was making his way toward the vendor's tent, oblivious of the firefight already underway.

The aliens were still after Blackwood.

A sliver of unwanted memory returned.  Blackwood had been the intended first victim for the cloning pods, but Paul had arrived first…

Evidently these aliens didn't give up after one failed try.

Ironhorse moved in on Blackwood, spotting Kincaid as he shadowed the astrophysicist.  If they were all right, then chances were Suzanne and Debi had made it out, too.

The colonel heard the fire from someone's M9.  Kincaid heard it too, his own weapon flashing smoothly into his hand.

Harrison.

Where was Harrison?

There, and—

All thought ceased in Ironhorse's mind as his vision constricted to take in the alien who was raising his ball-shaped weapon and pointing it at Blackwood.

The colonel charged, knocking people out of the way in a frantic effort to reach the scientist first.

All sights and sounds disappeared into a meaningless smudge of half-recognized realities as he leaped.

Blackwood looked up, his gaze locking on Ironhorse's.

The scientist's desperate expression was exactly the same as the last time Paul had seen it.

_Close your eyes, Debi._

Ironhorse didn't wonder how he knew, but he did.  The horror, the disbelief, the pain, pouring from the blue eyes echoed exactly the emotions Blackwood felt as he stood over the body of the first clone.  But there was something more, the colonel realized.

Hatred.

A flash of green light blinded the colonel, but he pressed on, his gaze locked to Harrison's.  The bolt of energy hit him in the upper shoulder as he reached the scientist, tearing his gaze away.  He turned slightly toward the blast, shielding Blackwood's body with his own.

The force of the energy bolt carried him into Blackwood and they both tumbled into the bread vendor, loaves flying in all directions.  People in the crowd rushed in, grabbing what they could while the stall's security man beat the scavengers back with an aluminum baseball bat.

Ironhorse wanted to scream, but the sound was locked inside his chest, fighting to escape until he thought he might explode from the pain and pressure.  He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he couldn't even blink.  But he could see, and the image that assaulted him made the Grim Reaper look like a welcome friend.

Harrison scrambled to his feet, the black hatred in his eyes shining brighter than the light from the alien weapon and striking deeper.  He pulled an M9 out from under his leather jacket, and dropping to his knees pressed the cold barrel against Ironhorse's forehead, right between his eyes.

The colonel watched the man's finger begin to tighten, forcing the blood out of the second knuckle and leaving the skin white and waxy-looking.  Blackwood was going to kill him.

Kincaid reached them, colliding with Harrison's shoulder and nearly knocking him over.  The gun went off, scattering the remaining scavengers into the crowd, who, for the most part, ignored the commotion.

"What's the matter with you?!" the younger man yelled.  "He just saved your life!"

"He's a clone!" Blackwood snarled.  "We have to kill him!"

Kincaid dropped to the ground beside Ironhorse, leaning over the man so he could look into the colonel's eyes.  "The aliens might've already done that," he said.

"Good," Blackwood spat, shoving the M9 back into its holster.

Ironhorse reached out through his eyes with every bit of concentration and will he could muster.  _I am_ not _a clone_ , he directed at Kincaid.

The Brit jerked, his eyes widening slightly.  "Harrison—?"

The scientist stalked away.

"Harrison!"

Blackwood whirled.  "We are not taking that— that— that _thing_ back with us!" he bellowed.

"Yes.  We.  Are," Kincaid hissed back, as quiet as Blackwood was loud.

"Then you carry it," Blackwood said, storming off.

Kincaid cursed softly and maneuvered Ironhorse over his shoulders in a fireman's carry before following the astrophysicist as best he could.  The predatory expression on the Britisher's face parted the crowd better than the large automatic he carried in his hand – just in case the aliens made another try.

As he rode on Kincaid's shoulder Ironhorse knew that the Omegans were tracking the two aliens.  When they hunted them down they'd come back, but he wouldn't be there.  At least they knew Blackwood and Kincaid were alive, and if they'd come to the marketplace once, they'd come back again.  The Omegans would find him, sooner or later, and until then, his sergeants knew what to do.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blackwood stormed into the bunker, startling Suzanne, who jumped, nearly knocking her microscope off the table.

"Harrison!" she snapped.  "What's wrong—"  The rest of the words froze in her throat when she saw Kincaid and the burden he carried.

"Mom!  That's—!"

 _Grandfather, please don't let her see me like this_ , Ironhorse begged.

"Debi, go to your room!"

"But, Mom—!"

"Now!"

The teen leveled Suzanne with a dark glare that rivaled Blackwood's, but she turned and ran out of the room.

_Thank you, Grandfather._

Making sure Debi had really done as she'd been told, Suzanne moved to help Kincaid lay the colonel down on an empty table.

Every move sent shards of sharp agony slicing through Ironhorse's body.  He wanted to scream, to release the pain that tried to eat him away from the inside out, but his throat was still locked shut as tightly as the rest of his body.  His shoulder was on fire, the searing heat sending tormenting clawed fingers digging through his chest and head.

"Harrison, get my medical kit," she instructed, trying to concentrate on the wound.  She looked up when the scientist failed to move, snapping, " _Now_ , Harrison!"

Blackwood slammed his M9 down on the table where the microscope sat, then stalked over to grab the small medical field kit Kincaid had provided.  He carried it to her, but refused to look at Ironhorse.  "If he's staying down here, then tie him up," he almost growled.

Suzanne's head snapped up, the hatred in Harrison's voice startling her.  She looked to Kincaid.

"Might not be a bad idea.  We don't know who—"

"We don't know _what_ he is," Harrison corrected.  He shook his head, his hands coming up like frightened birds taking flight.  "I've gotta get out of here."  He looked at Kincaid.  " _Don't_ follow me."

The pair watched Harrison go, both slightly afraid of what he might do, but refusing to borrow trouble by voicing their concerns.

"He'll be all right," Kincaid finally said, his tone not particularly reassuring.  "He just needs a little time to cool off."

"I hope you're right," Suzanne replied, forcing her own emotions back so she could work.  "First we take a little blood to check…"

Ironhorse didn't feel the needle prick as the hot pain continued to spread throughout his body, searing every nerve-ending in a brushfire of agony.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Several minutes later Suzanne looked up from her microscope.  "Everything here tells me he's human," she said, confused and frustrated.

"But?" Kincaid asked.  "I can hear a 'but' in there."

"But he's dead, John.  We all saw him die."

Kincaid glanced down at Ironhorse.  "If anyone got out of that alive, Suzanne, it's this man.  Besides, why would an alien clone throw himself in front of Blackwood to protect him from another alien?"

She joined the Brit at the examination table.  "I don't know.  I don't know anything anymore," she sighed, her voice catching slightly.  "Help me get him stripped."

"Stripped?"

"I need to examine him.  I have to find out if-- If he's Paul Ironhorse or some alien nightmare."

Kincaid didn't argue, untying the restraints and helping her removed the nondescript clothing Ironhorse wore.  When they were down to his briefs, Suzanne hesitated.

"What's the matter?" Kincaid chuckled.  "Think it might have a little three-fingered head?"

She locked flashing eyes on his.  "That's _not_ funny."

Kincaid's smile faded instantly and he raised his hands, palms out to stall the fight he saw in her eye.  "I know, I know," he said sincerely.  "I'm sorry.  Look, this has got me spooked, too, okay?  That was… stupid."

"Damned right it was," she said softly.

Reaching out with trembling hands, she pulled the briefs off as well.  Inside the body that was now his prison Ironhorse cringed.  An intensely private man, he suddenly felt very alone and very exposed in more than just physical ways.

Starting at his feet, she checked him, speaking in the quiet monotone one usually reserved for an autopsy.  "There are recent cuts on the bottoms of his feet… rocks, maybe some glass… no scars on either leg—"

"Ironhorse took a round in the left in Vietnam," Kincaid said, drawing himself up.  "That _is_ a clone."

"Not necessarily," Suzanne countered.  "Paul… Paul 'lost' his scars a little over a year ago."

"Lost?" Kincaid repeated.  "How do you lose a scar?"

"It's a long story," she offered, but didn't elaborate as she gritted her teeth and checked the plumbing, moving on as quickly as she could.  "Nothing on his chest… or arms… hands are slightly abraded, too…"

She tried moving his uninjured arm, having to fight to get it to bend even slightly at the elbow.  "The alien weapon appears to induce some kind of rigor…"

Forcing the arm flat, she focused in his injured shoulder.  "The wound appears similar to a chemical weapon wound… I'll have to run some tests on this drainage and the tissue before I know anything more…"

"Is he human or ain't he?" Kincaid asked, the waiting finally evaporating his short supply of patience.

"Help me roll him over."

Kincaid sighed, but did as she asked, his touch more gentle than he'd planned.  He couldn't be sure it wasn't Paul Ironhorse, and so long as there was a chance, he grasped it and held on tightly.

Reaching out with trembling fingers, Suzanne traced the long thin ridge of scar tissue that stretched across Ironhorse's lower back between his hip bones.  "It has to be Paul," she whispered.  "A clone wouldn't have a scar."

" _He_ doesn't have any scars," Kincaid countered.

"I told you, they were all, uh, erased, except for this one…"  She'd heard enough stories over the last five years to piece together most of the scar's history.  P.O.W. in Vietnam, an escape attempt, a beating, months on a stateside V.A. hospital…

For weeks after the Carolina lake incident she'd speculated as to why this particular scar had remained when the rest of Paul's old wounds were apparently healed.[1]  Paul had no answers for her, or he refused to speculate, it was hard to tell which.  Now she wondered if it might not have been some Cherokee spirit like the kind he'd told Debi about once, one who knew what the future held and left the scar as a way to tell them—

She shook her head.  Now was _not_ the time for fairy tales and daydreams.  She had to determine, once and for all, if the man lying on the table was Paul Ironhorse or some alien created copy.

Ironhorse screamed silently when she traced the scar again, realizing that until that very moment, he hadn't been completely convinced he wasn't a clone; some alien monster, waiting to be used against the people he considered friends… family.

"He looks all right, except for the wound," she said, trying to keep her voice professional.

"And the paralysis?" Kincaid asked.

"I hope it's temporary."

 _But I_ am _human_ , the colonel thought.  _God help me, I'm still a man._

They lowered him down onto his back and Suzanne dared a glance at the unblinking black eyes.  Reaching out, she touched the tip of her finger to the corner of one eye and pulled away a tear.  She swallowed hard, then gently cupped the side of his face.  "Paul?" she whispered.

_It's really me, Suzanne.  It's really me._

"Help me get him into one of the other rooms," she said softly.

Kincaid hesitated.

"It's Paul," she said, her tone leaving no room for doubt.  "Now come on."

Kincaid nodded.  "Looks like we just got our first miracle."

"Amen," Suzanne breathed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

She made Paul comfortable, then left to find Kincaid.  "We need a nurse, someone who can put in an IV and a catheter," she said.

"Where am I supposed to find that?"

"I don't know," Suzanne said.  "But I need someone, a nurse, a doctor, I don't care, but get them here, _tonight_."

"Suzanne, I don't—"

"Tonight, Kincaid.  No excuses."

He watched her turn and walk back into Ironhorse's room.  "Tonight," he muttered.  "A damned doctor…"  He started for the entry, then turned, saying louder, "And I suppose she thinks I can just buy one in the market!"

"Good place to start!" she called back.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Sitting next to the narrow bed, Suzanne worked slowly and carefully to clean the wound the alien weapon had left, but her gaze kept straying to the open, unblinking dark eyes.  With a sigh she sat back and folded her arms over her chest, then leaned forward almost immediately.

"That's it," she said.  "Listen, Paul, I'm going to close your eyes before they dry out.  Besides, I really can't handle the glassy-eyed stare any more, okay?"

 _No_ , he tried to tell her.  _It's my only contact with—_

There was no reply, not that she expected one, and she reached out and pressed the eyelids down, holding them closed for a moment before lifting her fingers.  Paul's eyes stayed closed.  It felt wrong, but she just couldn't work with his staring at her like that.

"That's better.  Now I can get to work on this shoulder…"

 _I can still hear_ , he realized, a wave of relief washing over him.  There was still a connection to the world beyond the pain and the blackness.

"Mom?"

_No!  Not Debi.  Grandfather!_

Images from the Cottage flooded his thought.  _Close your eyes, Debi…_

Suzanne turned, not overly surprised to find her daughter standing nervously in the doorway.  "Debi, I asked you to—"

"Is it him?" she asked, the hope in her voice piercing through Ironhorse's chest.

 _Don't get her hopes up_ , he silently pleaded Suzanne.  _If I don't make it, it'll be easier if she thinks—_

Suzanne looked from her daughter to Ironhorse and back.  "I think so, Chicken, but I don't know for sure."

"But he—"

"I know, but until he wakes up and can tell us what happened, we just don't know the whole truth."

"Yes, we do," Harrison said, stepping up behind Debi.  "Colonel Paul Ironhorse killed himself.  Whatever this _thing_ is, it's _not_ the man we knew.  We should get rid of it."

Suzanne watched her daughter bristle.

"That is too the colonel," Debi said, her voice suddenly more mature than Suzanne remembered it.  "And if you hurt him, I'll—"  She broke off, unable to complete the threat, but determined that Blackwood got the message.  "I will, Harrison.  If you hurt him."  She spun and stomped away.

Harrison watched her go, then turned back to Suzanne his eyes rounded with surprise.  "I think your daughter just threatened my life."

Suzanne nodded.  "And if you hurt him?  I'll help her."

 _No, Suzanne_ , Ironhorse said silently.  _He can't help himself._

"You're both crazy!" Blackwood exploded.

"Harrison," she said, trying to appeal to the scientist.  "I ran every test I could think of and they all say the same thing.  He's human.  And if he's human, he's our Paul Ironhorse."

"Human?" Blackwood countered.  "If he's human, then who did Kincaid and I rescue?  Who did I hold in the back of that van?  Who blew his—"  He stopped, blue eyes narrowing.  "That is _not_ the colonel.  And if it stays here, then tie it up and lock it in here."

"Fine," she huffed.  "And when he's better?  Maybe you can ask him why he bothered to save your life out there today."

Blackwood's jaws twitched, but he held his tongue.  Turning, he brushed past Kincaid and the blindfolded woman he was leading as he made his way to his room.

Suzanne stood and joined the pair.  "This our nurse?" she asked.

Kincaid untied the blindfold and tugged it off.

"Mrs. Stolter?"

The woman smiled.  "Yes.  I was a nurse before Steven was born.  John said you found an injured man?"

"In here," Suzanne said, motioning her into the small room.  "Where is Steven?"

"Staying with my sister.  She'll watch after him, and John promised to check the mission to make sure he's all right."  She stopped at the bedside.  "Oh, dear, that's a nasty looking wound."  She met Suzanne's equally concerned gaze.  "The… aliens?"

Suzanne nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Time, place, and reality slowly slipped away in the avalanche of agony that rumbled through Ironhorse's body.  In a moment of lucidity he was thankful that Blackwood insisted that they keep him tied up.  If the paralysis ever released him, he knew he'd be writhing.

Trapped inside his body, he burned.  And lost in the darkness there was nowhere to hide from the pain, no way to fight it back.  Only the oblivion of unconsciousness spared his sanity.

One day.  Needles pricking him.  The embarrassment of the catheter.

Then two.  A tube choking him as it slid down his throat.

Then three.  Sharp edges cutting into his shoulder.

A fever added fuel to the already roaring fire.  The pain flared up, consuming him from the inside out, burning away the darkness, until Ironhorse found himself surrounded by a brilliant white light.  It felt familiar and he recognized the sensation from the time when he'd died.

 _I'm dead again?_ he wondered, looking around the best he could.  There was nothing save the comforting white light that had replaced the pain and fear.

Then he heard it, a ringing noise.  As the sound grew louder the light dimmed until he found himself floating above the floor in a tiny room.  He recognized Suzanne, sitting hunched over in a chair.  The odd sound slowly resolved itself into words.

"…please, Paul," she was saying.  "You have to live.  I don't think I could stand to watch you die again."

 _I'm not dead, Suzanne_ , he said, but the words didn't reach her.  _At least I don't think I am…_

He looked closer, realizing that he was staring down at his own fever-ravaged body.  An odd tingling rippled through him and Ironhorse guessed it was his spirit's equivalent of a shiver.  He looked just like he had when they'd dragged him out of that Southeast Asian P.O.W. camp.  His body jerked violently against the restraints that held him in the narrow bed and he knew that if the fever didn't break soon he would be dead, once and for all.

Some unseen force pushed him forward and Paul drifted past Suzanne and through the door.  Outside he found Debi, sitting in a chair, reading.

 _Guarding my door_ , he realized, and, looking across the room, he saw from what.  Harrison Blackwood.

The astrophysicist sat at a small table, methodically cleaning an M9, his hands proceeding through every detail Ironhorse had taught him.

 _Harrison_ , he said.  _I had no idea what the clone planned to do…_

Suzanne stepped out of the room, sweeping through him and pausing to give her daughter a hug.

"How is he?" Debi asked.

"Burning up," she replied truthfully.  "Is Kincaid back?"

"Not yet."

"I need that medicine."

"Is he going to die?"

"I hope not, Chicken," Suzanne said.  "But I don't know.  He can't go on much longer like this."

Harrison's fingers worked faster with each word, rubbing and stabbing harder.

"I want to see him, Mom."

Suzanne looked down at her daughter.  "Let's wait until Kincaid gets back and see if he has the medicine I need.  If Paul get's better—"

"That's not—"

"Harrison," Suzanne snapped.  "Shut-up!"

"I'm home," Kincaid announced, too obviously trying to break the tension in the room.

"Did you get the—"

He held out a backpack.  "Cost me more than we could afford, too."

"A waste," Blackwood muttered.

Debi lurched to her feet, threw her book into the empty chair and sprinted for her room.  Suzanne watched the girl, then turned to face Harrison.  "You hurt her one more time and we're leaving."

Harrison looked up, the fear in his eyes real.  "Suzanne, I didn't—"

"One more time," Suzanne threatened, her voice choked.  Grabbing the backpack, she stormed back into Ironhorse's room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Kincaid waited until the door stopped shaking before he sat down across from Harrison and said, "Look, I don't know exactly what's going on here, but whatever it is, you've got to get it together."

Harrison refused to meet the man's gaze, working furiously on cleaning the weapon.

"Okay," Kincaid said, standing.  "Fine…"

Harrison looked up.  "I'm sorry.  It's not you, I— I'm don't know— I don't—"  He shook his head.

Paul shook his head, trying to move closer to the man, but he had no control over his spirit body.  _Hate me, Harrison, it's easier.  Or forgive me, but for God's sake don't try to do both._

The phantom Ironhorse and Kincaid watched the scientist slam the weapon down and leave.

A tug pulled Paul back into his room where Suzanne worked, preparing a solution and adding it to the IV.  That done, she dipped towels in a bucket of water next to the bed, wrung them out, then draped them across his chest and legs.  His body still struggled against the restraints, but the fight was growing weaker.

"It's not working," Suzanne said past her throat tight.  "It's not working."

"Give it a little time," Kincaid said from the doorway.

"I don't think he has a little time left."

"Grace would say his life's in God's hands now," Kincaid comforted.

Suzanne wiped a tear off her cheek.  "I just hope God decides to give him back to us, John.  Because I honestly don't know if I can go on without him."

Ironhorse frowned as his body suddenly convulsed.  He could feel a residual pain wrap around him, dragging him closer to the suffering body.  A scream blasted past him, shattering his consciousness.

As he fell toward his body he recognized the voice.  It was his own.

Slamming back into his body was like leaping into lava; the pain and fire overwhelmed him, making it impossible even to whimper.  Suspended in the unending agony he prayed to die.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Consciousness returned slowly, but despite his sudden awareness, Ironhorse still could not open his eyes.  The fiery agony was gone, a bone-deep cold ache taking its place.  He felt someone put another blanket over him and sighed softly.

"I know I'm not supposed to be here, but mom's so tired I thought I'd let her sleep and sit with you a little while longer."

 _Debi_ , he recognized.

"She's really worried about you, you know."  There was a pause and another cover joined the growing collection.  "Harrison is too, but he won't admit it.  He makes me so mad, I could just kick him… someplace good."

He wanted to smile, but couldn't find the energy.  She'd do it, too, if she thought it would keep him safe.

"John's worried, too.  He sits with you when mom's too tired.  I'd be here more, but she's afraid I'll— That I'll be here when you die."

She reached under the cover and found Paul's hand, giving it a hard squeeze.  "But you're _not_ going to die.  Okay?  Promise me…"

With what energy he could find Ironhorse focused on his fingers, willing then to curl.  They twitched.

"I knew you would," Debi whispered, kissing his damp forehead.  "I've gotta go wake mom up.  You rest.  I'll see you again real soon."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _Eight days, and_ , Suzanne looked at her watch, _seven hours_.  It seemed like Kincaid had carried Paul into the bunker a lifetime ago, but his fever had finally broken, the chills had finally stopped, and he finally seemed to be getting a little stronger.

Finally.

She checked the shoulder wound, frowning.  The drainage looked better, a clear liquid that reminded her of serum, but according to her tests it wasn't.  Her tests couldn't tell her what it was and that scared her.  Bad.

From all signs the wound was rapidly healing itself from the inside out.  Completely impossible… for a human being.

 _Stop it!_ she scolded herself.  _I'm starting to sound like Harrison.  He's_ not _an alien and he's_ not _a clone… I hope._

She recovered the shoulder with bartered sterile gauze and taped it down as the door creaked open.  She looked up as Kincaid stepped inside.

"Time for some food," he said with a touch of "stern."

She nodded.  "He's been quiet.  I think we could probably take the restraints off.  I don't think he'll have any more seizures."

Kincaid shook his head.  "Until he wakes up and answers some questions, he stays like that.  Besides, the fact that he's tied up is the only thing letting Harrison stay here."

She sighed.  "Harrison's a pain in the butt."

Kincaid chuckled.  "Yeah, I was getting that impression all by myself."

Suzanne smiled.  "But he's our pain in the butt."  Standing, she left the Brit to his shift and headed out to grab a quick meal, then a nap.

Kincaid took her place in the small chair next to the bed.  Staring down at Ironhorse, he noted the lines and streaks of grey that marked the toll the years at war with the aliens had taken.  A slight smile parted his lips.  Ironhorse was getting old.

Paul Ironhorse, one of the few men who ever challenged and bested his brother, Max, back in the old SAS days.  That Paul Ironhorse was some kind of mystical Indian warrior.  A man he thought could never age.  Never be hurt.  Never die.  A man just like his brother…

Kincaid could clearly remember Max telling him about the "damned American SPECOP major" who'd been assigned a stint with the famous SAS.  Max had called Ironhorse unpredictable and potty, but that soon changed to innovative and brassy.  Few people ever won Max's respect and admiration, but Paul Ironhorse had.

Kincaid wondered if the stories about those days weren't the reason why he'd joined the army in the first place.  All the excitement, the camaraderie, the adventures.  So, just like his brother, he'd opted for the SAS, and when the opportunity arose for him to spend six months with America's famous Delta Force operators, he jumped at it… and requested Ironhorse's unit.

 _But_ , he admitted to himself.  _I wasn't cut out for the army, the Special Forces, or Ironhorse's Delta Force._

So the major tossed him out.

Max had laughed.  Kincaid remembered that, too.  He'd laughed and laughed and laughed, and told John: _Didn't I tell you?  Didn't I?_

And he had.  Max knew from the start John Kincaid wasn't army material.

There were no hard feelings between he and Paul.  Kincaid realized as clearly as Ironhorse that he just wasn't a team player.  Lone wolf?  Yes.  One of the pack?  No.

Covert operations.  That was what Kincaid was good at.  One man with a mission, and he'd served his own country and the United States well.

When Max finally retired they became a team – a somewhat strained partnership at times, but they'd worked it out… until Max got himself killed.

Aliens.  Goddamned aliens.

And now the damned monsters were trying to steal away another life he respected and cared about and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.  He shook his head.

Even as he'd watched Ironhorse kill himself, he couldn't quite believe it.  Max wouldn't have either.  He would've witnessed Paul's resurrection in the marketplace and laughed, calling the colonel a "bloody sod" before he offered to buy him a drink.  But that was Max.

 _You'll wake up soon_ , he told Paul silently.  _Then you can tell us what the hell happened in there.  Not that Harrison's likely to believe it._

He reached out, adjusting the blanket and staring at the makeshift restraints.  If he knew Ironhorse, he wasn't going to like those at all.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne looked at her watch.  _Ten days, three hours._

She pulled the gauze back, her eyes flying wide.  The wound was healed.  Gone.

Laying the soiled material aside, she probed the slightly pink and puckered skin.  Completely gone, but that was impossible…   _For a human weapon_ , she reasoned.  They really had no idea what kind of weapons these new aliens possessed, or how they worked.

With a puffing sigh, she continued her examination.  Pulse seventy-two and strong.  Respirations twenty-four and normal.  Blood pressure one-twenty-four over seventy-four.  Normal.

A single IV remained, providing the necessary liquids.  The catheter carried those same liquids away.  The feeding tube was gone, a nod to Grace's optimism, but if he didn't wake up today they'd have to put it back.

She checked the circulation in Paul's hands and feet, making sure the restraints weren't too tight.  _A-okay._

"So why aren't you awake?" she asked, checking his pupils.  Equal and responsive.

There was nothing she or Grace could find to account for the persistent unconsciousness.  Not for the first time she wished they had a portable x-ray machine, but she could just imagine Kincaid's response if she asked about bartering for one.

Maybe Paul hit his head when he fell.  Harrison insisted he hadn't, that he didn't wake up because he wasn't really human, and, God help her, she was starting to believe him.

The softest of moans stalled the dark thoughts.  "Paul?" she asked.

Another louder moan and Paul's head rolled slightly, his eyes moving sluggishly under closed eyelids.

"Oh my God," she breathed.  "Come on, Paul, wake up, please, wake up."

He licked dry lips and she immediately reached for a glass.  Lifting his head slightly, she touched the rim of the glass to his lips and smiled as he drank several small sips.

Setting the glass aside, she reached out and gently cradled his face between her hands.  "Paul, open your eyes," she directed.  "Open your eyes.

He panted slightly, then his eyes cracked open, immediately squinting closed in defense against the dim light.

She laughed, then pulled back.  _What if Harrison's right?  What if he's not Paul?  What if he's some—_

"Suzanne?" the familiar voice rasp out.

"It's me," she said, her heart suddenly racing.

"Harrison?  Is he… all right?"

A smile filled her face.  Only the real Colonel Paul Ironhorse would ask about Harrison first.  "He's fine," she said, thinking that she saw the whisper of a smile cross the man's lips.

Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, she took his hand in hers and asked the question that had haunted her for nearly two weeks.  "Paul, what happened?"

The eyes cracked open again, and she reached up to turn off the small light that shone above his bed.  In the semi-darkness she could still see his eyes and his expression.  The haunted countenance told her she wasn't going to enjoy the answer.

"The refinery… new aliens… they caught us with a new weapon…  Some kind of a stun."

"Sounds like what they shot you with in the marketplace.  You were paralyzed for several days."

"This didn't last… just long enough for them to—"  He sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a shudder.

"For them to clone you?"

He nodded.  "But it wasn't right."

"I don't understand," she said, offering him the glass of water again.

He nodded and she helped him take another drink.  "The first clone," he explained.  "It was… me."

" _First?_ "

"They took me away, but I could feel it.  They cloned the clone."

Her mind raced.  _Is that possible?  But why not?  They're_ aliens _.  Their technology's different.  They—_

"I… got out… came back to… the Cottage."

"But—"

"Found Norton…"

She nodded, tears immediately filling her eyes.

"He's—"

"Dead."

"No," Ironhorse countered, turning his head to meet her gaze.  "Omega… we… he's at Mercy Hospital."

"That's not possible, Paul," she argued.  "He was dead."

He rolled his head.  "Send Kincaid… Mercy hospital… promise me."

She couldn't argue, couldn't say no.  "All right.  I'll have him go."

"Omega's there… Mrs. Pennyworth."

The blood pooled in the pit of her stomach, making it burn.  She was light-headed and shaking.  "They're alive?"

"A few… just… a few."

"Oh my God," she breathed.  "I— We thought they were all dead."

"So many… dead," he muttered, his eyes falling closed again.

"Paul?"

He was asleep again.

She stood and left the colonel to find Kincaid.  He was working over his cobbled computer system, cursing softly under his breath.  "John," she called to interrupt.

He glanced up, "What?"

Sitting down on the bench next to him, she squeezed her trembling hands together and whispered, "Paul's awake.  He said Norton's alive.  He's at Mercy Hospital along with some of the Omegans and Mrs. Pennyworth."

"Who?"

"Our housekeeper," Suzanne explained.  "Will you go check?"

"That's a long way, Suzanne."

"John, if he's right—"

"Then we're not in this alone," he finished for her.  "Will you be all right here with Harrison?  Does he know?"

She shook her head.  "And I don't plan on telling him until I know it's true."

"Good idea."

"How soon can you go?"

"Now."

She offered him a small smile.  "Thank you."

Kincaid gave her a brotherly hug and went to grab his jacket.

Harrison passed him, asking, "Going out?"

"Yeah, gotta meet a guy about a trade."  He met Suzanne's gaze.  "X-ray machine."

"Want some company?" Blackwood asked, but his tone made it clear he didn't really want to go – not for that.

Kincaid shook his head.  "No, my friend's a little skittish about strangers.  I better go this one alone."

"Be careful," Harrison said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse slept for the rest of the day and through the night, waking the next morning when Suzanne came in to check on him.  Feeling stronger, he told her the story of his capture and escape.  His memories of the events at the Cottage were not as clear, but he told her what he could, adding, "I had no idea what the first clone planned."

"Even if you had, I don't think you could've stopped him," she said.  "Not if he was anything like you."

"When they died… I… convulsed, I guess," he said.  "Derriman said it was like watching someone have a seizure."

"I wish I understood the process better," Suzanne said, the frustration clear in her voice.  "Maybe that's why it took you so long to wake up now."

"Maybe the process does some kind of damage—"

"Paul, elevated theta waves isn't damage."

"It isn't normal, either," he countered.

She grinned.  "I never said you were normal to begin with, Colonel."

A slight lopsided grin lifted the right side of his mouth and his eyebrows arched.  "Is that so?"

It was her turn to nod as she enjoyed the familiar gesture.

"Did you send Kincaid?"

"Yes.  He should be back today."

"That when you plan on lettin' me out of these padded handcuffs?"

Her cheeks turned cherry red.  "Um, I'm sorry, Paul, but…"  She trailed off, not at all sure how to explain.

"It's okay," he said, his voice growing tired.  "I wonder if I'm who I think I am sometimes, too."

She watched sleep pull him away, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.  "I know who you are," she whispered.

Standing, Suzanne stretched, then stepped back into what she was not-so-fondly calling their living room.  Debi bounded into the room, all smiles.  Harrison looked up and was about to ask her what was going on when Kincaid stepped into the room with someone trailing behind him.

The familiar silhouette told Suzanne all she needed to know and she moved forward as Harrison scrambled backwards.  The man stepped into the light, a smile on his face as Suzanne wrapped him in a fierce hug that he returned.

"Real good to see you, too, ma'am," he said, soft Kentucky drawl riddled with amusement.

Suzanne stepped back, wiping tears off her face.

"How's the old man?" Derriman asked.

"Better," she said.  "I think he'll be okay."

"That's a little good news for a change," he said.

"What about Norton?" she asked.

"Norton?" Debi almost squealed, sliding in next to her mother.  "Is Norton okay, too?"

Derriman chuckled.  "I see the colonel told you the news.  He's doing fine.  Awake, flirtin' with the nurses and beggin' for a keyboard."

"That's our Norton," Suzanne said, her voice turning more somber as she asked, "Who else…?"

Derriman took a seat at the workbench.  "Norah, Alex, Goodson, Stein, Matthews and Alverez are left.  Hickson and Rider made it out, but we lost them in the marketplace, Hickson the day the colonel got shot."

"You were in the marketplace?" Harrison asked, finally inching closer.

Derriman nodded.  "Looking for you people," he explained.  "Seemed like our best shot if you were still in the city."

"It was," Kincaid said.  "Everyone here has to deal in the marketplace sooner or later."

"What happened?" Suzanne asked, hoping that hearing the news from Derriman might help Harrison believe.

"Well, the best I can tell you is this; the old man was captured at the refinery and cloned."  He walked over and sat down, the others following his lead.  He grinned at Debi and continued.  "But that clone wasn't an alien; he was just as stubborn as the real Ironhorse, and twice as ugly, so the aliens cloned the clone and got what they wanted.

"That second clone arrived at the Cottage with four of his alien buddies.  He got past the gate, but Miller called me and said Ironhorse was actin' strange.  I checked it out and issued a silent alarm.

"I dropped a Kevlite off with Mr. Drake and got Mrs. Pennyworth out to the kennels when the colonel arrived.  He'd, uh, commandeered a car.  Norah, Stein and I went in through the annex, but the main door was locked down.  The second clone passed through and didn't enter the secondary access code.

"We got to the Bio-lab door, heard you talking," he said, nodding toward Harrison and Suzanne.  "But when we got in there all we found was Mr. Drake.  The colonel spotted the explosives and we pulled back to the bomb shelter.  We planned on leavin' the two of them there and headin' back in to find you and Debi, but the colonel went into some kind of seizure.  Took Norah and Stein both to hold him down.  I was workin' on Mr. Drake and then next thing we knew, ka-boom!

"When we got the blast door open there was starlight overhead and the sound of a car high-tailin' it outta there.  Your van, we guessed," he said, nodding to Kincaid.  "When we got topside we found the rest of the squad…"  His gaze dropped to the tabletop.  "The ones who'd made it.  We took the troop truck and got the hell out of Dodge.  Took the colonel and Mr. Drake to Mercy and waited."

"How long before Paul woke up?" Suzanne asked.

"Three days, and he seemed fine.  A little preoccupied, but we packed him back to our safe house and started the search for you."

"Then you didn't know about the second clone," Suzanne said.

"Just what the colonel told me after the fact.  I didn't see him."

"He shot himself," Debi said.  "To save me and kill the other clone."

"Then Ironhorse was right, Pumpkin.  That first clone really was a copy of him, because he'd do whatever it took to keep you safe."  He looked back to Suzanne.  "Given the timin', I'd bet that seizure hit just about the time the clones died."

She nodded.  "There must be some kind of link between the clone and its human victim, but I can't come up with a way to explain it."

Derriman looked up, meeting Blackwood's troubled gaze.  "Ironhorse saw the aliens movin' in on you in the marketplace.  Two of my men were watchin' the vendor and got caught in the crossfire.  One died.  We hunted them down and we killed the son-of-bitches."  He held Blackwood's gaze.  "When they went for you the colonel stopped them the only way he could."  With a smile for Suzanne he asked, "Can I check in on him now?"

"Sure," she said.  "He was sleeping, but I don't think he'll mind the interruption."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Harrison paced in the tiny room he called his own.  It wasn't really a room, just a small section of bunker hallway, but he'd forced himself to think of it as _home_.

He'd forced himself to think of himself as _alone_ , too, but with Derriman's arrival that was getting progressively harder to do.

He was not alone.  He still had Suzanne and Debi.  Kincaid.  And now Norton and the soldiers.

 _And_ , he forced himself to admit.  _Ironhorse._

Damn the man anyway!

Watching him pull that trigger…  _It's been good, working with you._

Harrison shook his head to chase the image away, but it clung tenaciously to the back of his eyelids.

_It's been good, working with you._

The words were wrong.  He'd recognized that even as the clone pulled the trigger, but there was nothing he could do.  No one he could ask.

Until now.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Harrison waited until Derriman left the colonel's room, then started for the door, only to be cut off by Debi.  Flashing blue eyes told him he was treading thin ice with the girl.

"The colonel's sleeping," she said, the challenge clear in her voice.

"I just want to—"

"Hurt him?"

"Debi," Suzanne scolded from across the room.

"No," Harrison said, shaking his head.  "I won't—"

"You better not," Debi said, then stepped out of the way.

Suzanne gave Harrison a supportive smile.  He opened the door, took a deep breath, held it, and stepped into the room.

The door clicked shut behind him and he jumped involuntarily, letting the breath he was holding escape.

Glancing hesitantly at the colonel, he was grateful to find him asleep.

Moving silently to the chair, Harrison moved it back from the bed and sat down, almost too afraid to draw another breath.  Despite his best efforts he found himself staring.

_It's been good, working with you.  Close your eyes, Debi…  Close your eyes…  Close your eyes…_

He followed the echoing suggestion and let his eyes fall closed, praying the face of the dead Paul Ironhorse wouldn't be waiting for him.  Instead, it was a different face that greeted him.  The face of the man who saved him in the marketplace.  The same face he'd pressed the barrel of his M-9 against—

"Harrison?"

The voice caught him off guard and Blackwood's eyes flew wide and he scrambled to his feet.

"Sorry," Paul said.  "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's— It's okay."

"You all right?"

"Getting there," was the honest reply.  "I think.  Do I need to get Suzanne?"

"No," Ironhorse said, watching Blackwood perch on the edge of the chair.  Deciding that the direct approach was his best bet, he added, "I'm sorry, about what happened.  I didn't know what the clones planned to do until—"

"Until?  You knew?"

Ironhorse's forehead bunched as he tried to find the right way to explain.  "It wasn't like I knew what they were thinking, or what they were doing… exactly.  There were moments when I saw— No, I didn't exactly _see_ it.  It was more like, uh, a flash of insight.  One planting bombs, one… killing himself."

Harrison swallowed hard to push the bile back where it belonged.  "God, Paul, we thought that was _you_."

"I know," he replied in a whisper.  "I know."

"Maybe I still do."

Ironhorse nodded.  "That's okay.  There are moments I have my doubts, too."

"That's a very human reaction, Paul."

"I thought you thought I was a clone."

"I—"  The scientist broke off, a smile breaking across the worry-worn face.  "I think I'm coming to my senses."

"Well, when you get there, do you think you can untie me?  I've got an itch I can't ask Suzanne to scratch, and you're not my type."

Blackwood allowed himself a chuckle, the first in far too long.  He moved to the restraints that held Ironhorse's ankles to the bed.  Reaching out, he paused, his hands on the buckles.  "It really is you, isn't it?"

"It's really me, Harrison."

He released the buckles and Ironhorse delighted in the ability to bend his knees and rotate his ankles.  Blackwood moved to the wrists as Ironhorse said, "I haven't been tied up this long since I was a P.O.W."

Harrison's fragile expression shattered and he sank down onto the edge of the bed, his hands shaking too hard for him to undo the last two straps.  Tears caught in his eyelashes, then fell.  He tried again, managing to free one of the colonel's hands.  "I'm so sorry, Paul.  But I was so afraid…"

Paul used his free hand to undo the second restraint, then rubbed his wrists.  "It's all right.  You did the right thing.  You waited until—"

"I waited until I could stop hating you," Harrison interrupted, his voice rough with self-loathing.

Silence wrapped around the pair while Harrison fumbled with the empty wrist straps

Ironhorse rubbed his wrists again and flexed his fingers.  "Thanks."

Blackwood nodded.

"When will they be back?"

"Few hours, at least," Harrison said, standing and pacing to the far side of the room.  "It'll depend on the streets."

Paul slowly sat up and stretched, still favoring his shoulder despite the fact that it looked perfectly fine.  He stood, stretching some more, then asked, "Any coffee down here?"

The hint of a smile flashed across Harrison's face.  "It's not like Norton's, but it's hot and strong."

"It'll do, then," Ironhorse said.

"It'll do," Blackwood echoed softly.

He took a tentative step forward, paused, then closed the space between them.  Meeting Paul's eyes, he offered his hand.  Ironhorse didn't hesitate, reaching out to grip the proffered hand.  Harrison squeezed, then stepped closer, giving the colonel a hug that Ironhorse returned.

"It's over, Harrison," Paul said.  "Now we go on."

Blackwood nodded.  "And by God we're going to win."

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely."

  


* * *

[1]  See "Cherokee Healing Lake" by Gillian Holt


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